


Not Victoria's Secret Models

by snsk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, Dinner, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Schmoop, no plot is worth doing if it isn't worth doing three times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s that supposed to be?” Cas enquires, wide-eyed.</p><p>“It’s an angel, Cas,” Dean says. “Since you won’t be a good sport and pose on top of our tree.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Victoria's Secret Models

 “What’s that supposed to be?” Cas enquires, wide-eyed.

“It’s an angel, Cas,” Dean says. “Since you won’t be a good sport and pose on top of our tree.”

“Angels do not pose on top of trees like those Victoria’s Concealment models you introduced me to,” Cas says indignantly, “and they certainly do not support the superficial commercialisation of the most noble of celebrations.”

“Don’t be such a Grinch, baby,” Dean says. “Shh and help me put up the tinsel, Sam likes things all sparkly.”

Cas drags himself out of Bobby’s comfortable chintz sofa and helps put the tinsel and silver small balls and all manner of shiny things up. “It does look cheerful,” he admits.

“See, you’re getting into the spirit,” Dean says. “It’s a Christmas miracle. God bless us one and all.”

Cas doesn’t know whether he’s making fun or not so he refrains from scolding him. Sam returns with their Christmas dinner and Bobby follows, grumbling about the thirty minutes Sam took to choose the perfect spices.

“Leave the woman alone,” Dean chides and Sam throws an onion at him.

They settle down with Kill Bill (1&2) in front of the tv because Dean has not an idea of a proper Christmas movie, while Sam puts on an apron and busies himself with dinner and from time to time calls out, “Some help wouldn’t go astray,” but everybody ignores him. Well, Cas looks conflicted, but Dean directs laser eyes on him and tells him this is on his list of Required Watching, which is, Cas knows, a very important list, so he doesn’t move.

The doorbell rings.

“Are you expecting someone?” Cas asks Bobby. Bobby shakes his head no.

Dean gets the door. Anna, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer and Crowley are standing outside. Anna’s carrying two bottles of wine. Lucifer’s got a box of Cadbury’s finest.

“If this is the apocalypse again,” Dean says, “wait ‘till after Cas has finished all the Bourne movies, which should be after Boxing Day.”

“We are here for Christmas Dinner,” Michael announces grandly.

“That’s nice an’ all, but nobody invited you,” Bobby remarks, appearing at the door.

“Um, well-“

Dean is not surprised. This is number a thousand and one on the list of the thousand crazy things Sam would do.

“Come in,” says Sam, like the perfect host he is.

They do.

“Brother!” Michael and Lucifer boom. “Hey, Cas,” Anna says. Crowley winks at him and Michael inclines his head, clearly still upset about the Molotov.

“Oh my fucking god,” Cas says.

Five brows frown in unison, and five lectures on taking Names in Vain are clearly forthcoming.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“You’re missing _our_ Christmas dinner,” Anna says, “so we decided to come to you!”

Cas buries his head in his hands. Dean feels his pain.

“Zachariah couldn’t come, he’s busy but he sends his love. And Uriel is still being Guarded.” Michael looks interestedly at the television, where blood and gore are in wild abundance. Dean suspects he’s picking up new tactics for fighting Evil. Or maybe he just really likes Uma Thurman.

Lucifer walks over to Sam and starts helping with the chopping, because Sam’s his favourite, that’s no secret. Crowley and Gabriel start up an animated discussion about some angel who needs to be Taught a Lesson. Dean sends a little prayer the angel’s way. Crowley has somehow got beer in his hand which Dean _knows_ is from Bobby’s fridge.

Bobby appears to have given up on trying to shoo them all away and has devoted himself to the mindless violence of Kill Bill. He and Michael even exchange polite remarks about Tarantino’s later works.

Anna sits down next to Cas, and asks him quietly how he’s been doing. Cas looks at her. “As well as you might expect,” he says.

Anna leans towards Cas to catch his eye. Her long red hair falls forward and she says, solemn: “You have to stop blaming yourself.”

“It is my fault.” Cas is a stubborn ass, Dean reflects not for the hundredth time.

“Cas-“ Anna sighs. “Yeah, you messed up. But guess what, buddy. You’ve messed up the least in this family. Gabe didn’t want to fight even when the world was ending. Crowley tortures souls with a manic sort of glee that isn’t normal, even for demons. Don’t even get me started on Mike and Lucifer, who brought about the apocalypse. Twice.”

“And you?”

“I,” Anna says, cheerful, “am unable to do one fucking thing wrong, my brother. I’ve tried and tried, and I’m constantly bloody perfect, and I am always fucking right.”

Cas huffs at that. It’s an amused one. Anna cuffs him affectionately and asks him what he’s been up to.

Dean, in practice, is watching Kill Bill and definitely not eavesdropping because that shit backfires on you, but he can say this: he’s always liked Anna best.

“Dinner is served!” Sam announces, taking off his apron with a flourish. Dean might make a smart remark at that, but then he probably wouldn’t get any food.

“Michael, Gabriel is kicking me under the table,” Lucifer whines.

“I told you not to sit with him,” Michael says.

“What, are you two what, three years old?” Dean asks.

“Shut up,” Gabriel and Lucifer say in unison. They _are_ toddlers. Dean knew it.

“Sam, the food’s delicious,” Anna says.

“It ain’t bad, son,” Bobby acknowledges. The rest make various noises of contentment.

Sam looks at Dean.

“Oh, all right, it’s better than the McDonald’s takeout I suggested,” Dean snaps.

Sam looks mournfully at Dean. Cas looks reproachfully at Dean.

Dean concedes.

“It’s good, Sammy, I really like it, can’t you see how I’ve left less than a quarter of the beef for everyone else? Now quit the puppy eyes.”

“Crowley, stop playing with your iPad,” Michael orders suddenly.

“I need to know who won The Voice.”

“Not at dinner.”

“Toddlers,” Dean marvels. “It’s amazing. I’m amazed.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Sam says graciously because he’s the matriarch of this household.

“Eat your peas,” Cas tells Dean. “You need the green.”

“I don’t like the peas,” Dean says. “I want another potato instead.”

He supposes the angels aren’t the only kids sitting at the table.

After dinner they settle down to watch The Bourne Identity. When the movie ends Dean vaguely makes out the shapes of the angels + demon shifting positions and thanking Bobby and Sam, making their way out into the stubbornly unsnowy night. He thinks he sees a flash of Anna’s fire-hair as she kisses Cas on the cheek. Dean’s fallen asleep on Cas’ shoulder, so it all doesn’t really register with him, and the golden cherub on top of the tree watches over them as another Christmas passes.

 

* * *

 


End file.
